


Hard to Love

by maya_talbot



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anorexia, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Manic Episode, Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital, Minor Violence, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26559622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maya_talbot/pseuds/maya_talbot
Summary: Alfred Jones (18) ends up in a psychiatric hospital after a severe mental breakdown and meets Arthur (22), a friendly but cynical Englishman who refuses to eat. Dealing with heavy personal issues, they embark on a life-changing, cathartic adventure together.trigger warnings: depression, anxiety, psychosis, minor violence, self-injury, suicidal ideation, eating disorders, (sort of) toxic relationship! this story does not romanticize, nor promotes the romanticizing of mental illness !
Relationships: Alfred Jones/Arthur Kirkland, America/England (Hetalia), Canada/France (Hetalia), Hungary/Prussia (Hetalia)
Kudos: 25





	Hard to Love

It was anything but a sunny, spring day. Imagine the worst storm in the timeline of humanity, but more intense. A tornado causing a natural cataclysm, consuming everything that stands on its path without a drop of mercy. Lightning struck every fifty milliseconds, blinding every living thing in sight. Jupiter released his wrath. Helpless voices shrieked as they watched everything they loved crumble to the ground with no return. Heaviness of grey clouds put pressure on chests and pulled heart strings that no one could besides the goddess of rage and mania. It was never-ending. 

At least that's how it seemed to Alfred. 

"Alfred? Are you still with us?" A gentle voice snapped him out of his avalanche of thoughts. He jerked upwards in the chair and bit his lip in reflex, giving the doctor a dissociated, blank gaze. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yes." Alfred's lips trembled as he attempted a smile, his shaky hands fidgeting with the hospital wristband as they lay absently in his lap. 

The psychiatrist concealed the distress behind her eyes. It wasn't the first time she was faced with this boy. He had been here once before, after a severe breakdown. She didn't want him to feel as if he were a lost cause, although her struggle seemed futile. "We have to keep you hospitalized for at least a week, three days under suicide watch. Do you understand what that means?"

Alfred nodded absentmindedly. "Uh-huh." Boiling self-hatred mixing with a lingering taste of emptiness caused a blockage in his throat. 

"I have to ask you a couple of questions, and then the nurse will show you to your room. Is that okay?"

"Go ahead," he mumbled and closed his eyes for a brief moment to chase away a waterfall of tears bubbling up behind his eyelids with every passing second, with every next word the doctor would say. A couple of teardrops escaped nonetheless, rolling down the dark, purple circles under his eyes all the way down to his lips where he felt their bitterness. They tasted like pointlessness incarnated.

The psychiatrist's questionnaire remained a blur in his memory.

He found himself minutes later (or was it hours?) in front of the room they assigned to him. Number seventy-two. The seven stood out with its bright yellow aura in contrast to the darker, less intense two. He stared at it with curiosity before he was hurried inside. Averting his eyes to the floor, Alfred opened the door and took an insecure step forward into the patient room.

Goddammit, he had a roommate. And the top bunk was taken. Such an insignificant thing, yet it made his red blood cells set themselves on fire and burn through his veins. 

"Hello," Alfred's new roommate said with a deadpan expression. His light blond hair was puffy and unkempt with a cute, wavy touch to it. "I'm Arthur." He introduced himself in a soft voice and a surprising English accent. Interesting.

"I'm Alfred." The American replied and smiled just slightly. He would have been friendlier if it wasn't for the constant storm cooking in his chest, the knife repeatedly stabbing him in the stomach and the hot, melted iron sizzling his brain. 

Arthur threw his legs off the top bunk and climbed down to Alfred. The simple action left him breathless. "So," he said in-between breaths, "what brings you to Mayfield?"

"Um, I don't know. It's stupid." The other shrugged. He sat on the bottom bed and pulled his glasses up in a lifeless movement as he eyed Arthur head to toe. "You?"

"Eating disorder," the boy said in a calm tone, but mentally measured his disappearing waist which he considered too wide, too large, too imperfect. Anxious about Alfred judging his body at first glance.

Alfred liked the expressive green eyes of the English boy, how they danced from one corner of the room to the other. He could hear the wheels churning in Arthur's brain as he was thinking. The intense greenness reminded him of the forest, and the deep, spiritual sound of F minor. It was fascinating. 

"How long have you been here?" He asked.

"Since yesterday," Arthur replied. "But it's not my first time."

"Oh."

"Yep."

An awkward silence arose. They threw a wordless side-glance at each other and let out tired sighs. With his tiny, fragile arms, Arthur hugged a pillow to his chest. Alfred picked the skin around his fingernails and pretended to be at peace, while he wanted nothing more than to smash a billion plates or wreck a whole skyscraper. Everyone always told him he was impulsive and angry, but they had no idea how much anger he was able to hold back. How much they didn't know. 

"Okay, I lied." Alfred broke the quiet after a couple of uncomfortable minutes. "I'm scared that if I say what I have, you'll hate me or judge me."

"You think I could judge you? I hate myself too much to care about the dumb shit you're up to," Arthur deadpanned. "I have had anorexia since I was sixteen. I'm twenty-three."

"That's... a fair point."

"Mhm. But I'd like to guess your diagnosis, it's more fun that way." 

Alfred curiously quirked an eyebrow at the statement, intrigued by Arthur's interest. "I agree." 

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen," the American said. "I've had this... thing since I was sixteen, I think. It's kind of unclear. Maybe it's just always been there, who knows. Actually, I also felt like shit when I was a kid, but no one ever suggested I needed help until it got really bad. Which sucks. I feel like someone could have prevented it from escalating, but... here I am."

Arthur smiled and looked down, nodding his head as he related to the words. "I know the feeling. My parents ignored my concerns for months. Then at eighteen I did something stupid to get their attention, but I miscalculated and got hospitalized."

"I mean, me too," Alfred couldn't contain a small laugh. "Except I honestly didn't want to wake up. Not here, not anywhere."

Saying these overly personal things about himself to a stranger made Alfred feel like he was not just stepping out, but doing a long jump out of his comfort zone - and somehow, he wasn't threatened by Arthur's presence, instead feeling as if he could trust him. Perhaps it was the presence of Arthur's eyes that calmed him down. Alfred hadn't had such a grounded connection to the world around him in a while before the moment of looking into his eyes. He cherished every second of not being detached from his surroundings, and those seconds were rarer and brighter than diamonds.

The skeptical part of him wondered if it was just his black-and-white thinking putting Arthur in one of the two available boxes based on a random gut instinct that didn't mean anything. Maybe Alfred was gullible. Maybe Arthur would hurt him. Then again, the universe was going to hurt him either way, so why did it matter? 

"Hey," he felt a light push on his right shoulder. "You zoned out." Arthur reminded him in the softest tone. 

"I'm sorry, I just- I didn't mean to, I'm sorry if I was rude-" Alfred instantly panicked, his eyes glossy from the tears he tried his best to keep hidden away. "God, I just can't with this day. I need to sleep before I fuck something else up." He shivered as he breathed in and covered his face with the palms of his hands. 

"It's okay, everybody feels like that after they get admitted to a hospital. You should take a nap to feel better." 

A weird cycle was happening in Alfred's head whenever Arthur spoke. His voice put out the fire growing in his chest, but simultaneously made him feel angry for making him less angry. The cocktail of emotions was marinating his brain and suddenly everything was senseless except one thought - he had to sleep. He had to sleep, otherwise he would explode. And Arthur wasn't allowed to see him explode.

He had already done enough damage to this world.

Arthur climbed back up to his bed, Alfred sank into the mattress on instant. He curled up in a fetal position and distractedly scratched a self-inflicted scar on his wrist. The repetitive action helped him float away into a dream. Pain relaxed him.

And as he fell asleep, droplets of blood from the reopened wound made their way to stain the clear, white bed sheets. 

He'd sell a kidney to never wake up.


End file.
